


A Traveler's Guide to Ireland

by welshyak



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, F/M, Fluff, Journalist! Jughead Jones, Sharing a Bed, leap year au, mechanic! Betty Cooper, probably smut somewhere in here, will add tags as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welshyak/pseuds/welshyak
Summary: Loosely based on the movie Leap Year (2010)."She scrambled for a computer, and before she could think, found herself a one-way ticket to Dublin, Ireland. Her heart was pounding. "Am I really doing this?" Betty clicked the accept button. "Yeah, I’m really doing this!"Jughead made it to his apartment. He picked up his phone, started dialing, and held it to his ear. “Hi, Veronica? I’m accepting your offer.” He hung up, opened his laptop, and bought a ticket to Dublin, Ireland. "I’d better start packing""





	1. The Boot is On the Other Foot

**Author's Note:**

> Happy St. Patrick's day! In honour of today, I thought I should post the first chapter of my new fic: A Traveler's Guide to Ireland. I'm so very excited to share it with you, it's been a blast to write so far!  
> Updates will be either twice a week, or once a week. I'll let you know roughly when the next chapter will be up. 
> 
> Hey! To all you Spanish and French speakers out there! I speak and write French and Spanish too! Do you guys want a fic in your own language? If so, give me a shout, and I'll whip something up/translate a fic for your reading pleasure. :)

     “How’s it going under there?” Veronica asked.  
      “Uh, not so bad,” Betty said optimistically, “I think it’s just a problem with one of the butterfly valves in the throttle.”  
      Betty was underneath the hood of her car, a very old and very beat-up Volkswagen. To anyone else, the car may have been a piece of junk, but to Betty, she was a princess. Betty cleaned the valve in question and brought her face out from underneath the hood.  
      Veronica laughed: “Betty, you’re absolutely covered in grease!” She stood next to Betty’s Volkswagen, perfectly tidy in her black cape, with a Starbucks coffee in her hand.  
      Betty smiled, wiping her hands with a rag. “That’s what happens when you work on cars, Ronnie! Isn’t it awesome?!”  
      “Yes, it is; but finish up, I have some exciting news to tell you!”  
      Betty made a surprised face, opening the car door and jumping in. “Is this about your job, by any chance?” She tried turning on the car; it sputtered to life. Betty smiled victoriously. “The wagon lives to drive another day!” She laughed, looking at Veronica, who clapped enthusiastically. Betty turned the car off, and turned herself in the car seat to face Veronica.  
      “So what’s the big news, Veronica?”  
      Veronica’s face broke out into a wide smile. “Well, guess who I saw leaving Lester Lampert with a bag in hand?!”  
      Betty’s stomach dropped. Every one of their friends was single, except for Betty. “No way,” Betty said, eyes wide.  
      “Yes way!” Veronica squealed. “It’s Archie! He’s going to propose! Oh, I’m so happy for you, Betty!” Veronica leaned down and took Betty’s greasy hands in hers, eyes shining.  
      Betty sat motionless in the car, her mouth open in disbelief. She could just see it now: _they were in a garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers; Archie was in a tuxedo, smiling up at her - no, they were at a beach, and Archie was in his usual clothes, with the wind blowing through his hair._ _Perfect_ , Betty thought, a smitten smile growing on her face. Then she remembered her cookies.  
      “My cookies, oh my goodness!” Betty slammed down the hood of her car down, and ran to the elevator, Veronica running gracefully alongside.  
      “So, what are you going to say?!” Veronica asked as they stepped inside the elevator.  
      Betty laughed, pressing her floor number. “Of course I’ll say yes; there’s no way I’d say no!” She turned to face Veronica. “Ronnie, I just…” Betty paused, sighing. “I love him, so much. He’s my best friend.”  
      Veronica sighed in appreciation, clasping her hands together earnestly. “Ugh, you two are so disgustingly perfect for each other, it’s not even funny.”  
      The elevator dinged and opened, and the two girls entered Betty’s apartment.  
      It was a small apartment, and maybe a little run-down, but it was the best Betty could afford in downtown Chicago. And anyway, it was home.  
      “How you don’t live with Archie is beyond me.” Veronica said, walking to the kitchen.                                                                                                                              “I don’t know, Ronnie, I kind of like being independent. I don’t want Archie to think I’m after his money.” Betty shrugged, moving to take the cookies out of the oven: “Ah, perfect.” Satisfied with her work, Betty placed them on top of the stove to let them cool.  
      Archie just happened to be captain of the Chicago Bears. He'd work extremely hard to get to where he was now, and Betty was very proud of him.  
      “But you are going to move in with him once you get married, right?”  
      “Of course!” Betty assured her.  
      “Promise me I can come and visit,” Veronica said, taking off her gloves and picking up one of the lava-hot cookies.  
      “I wouldn’t have it any other way!” smiled Betty. “Do you think I should make a speech?”  
      Veronica shook her head, mouth full of cookie, “Short and sweet, Betts, just like you.”  
      Betty smiled, and picked up a cookie herself. Soon, she would be a married woman! _Who would’ve thought?_

…

     All eyes were on Jughead. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to let on. He stormed down the hallway, past the office cubicles that were once so familiar to him, to the separate office of Reggie Mantle. His black overcoat fluttered in his haste. Jughead had murder in his eyes. He was angrier than he had ever been in his entire life, and this time he wasn’t going to hold back. In one hand he held a large stack of papers, and in the other, a bottle of wine.  
      Reggie was in a meeting with their boss, and things looked like they were going just swell. _Good_ , Jughead thought; _I’ll be able to ruin both of their days_.  
      Reggie saw him coming through the glass walls of his office, and smirked.  
      Jughead swung open the door.  
      “Jughead, we’re in a meeting! You’re going to have to-”  
      “Shut up, Weatherbee.” Jughead threw down his notes onto Reggie’s desk, where they landed with a satisfactory thump. Jughead spoke before Weatherbee could protest. “Hope you have fun with this, you sack of shit - and here’s hoping you die a long and painful death.”  
      “I love you, too,” Reggie said sardonically.  
      “Say hi to Cheryl for me. Oh yeah, she has herpes. Have fun with that.”  
      The look on Reggie’s face was priceless. Jughead turned out of the office and opened the bottle of wine with a knife. The cork popped, sailing through the air and landed squarely in the trash. _First nice thing that’s happened to me all day_ , thought Jughead.  
      He started walking for the door, taking a swig of the wine. It tasted horrible - Jughead had never liked wine - but he supposed this was occasion enough to try it again.  
      “Jughead!” Weatherbee yelled, running to catch up to him. “What the fuck was that about? You’ve never been late to work. I’m going to have to fire you - are you drinking at work?!”  
      Jughead took a swig from his bottle. “Looks like it, Weatherbee. And you can’t fire me, because I quit." Jughead gritted his teeth and headed towards the elevator.  
      “Okay, well, it’s been nice knowing you,” Weatherbee said sarcastically. The elevator opened, and Jughead, bottle in hand, scowled at his boss. “I’m sure,” was all the response Jughead gave before the doors closed, and suddenly he found himself alone. He sighed, still agitated, and put the bottle of wine in the corner of the elevator.  
      Jughead felt queasy, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. When the elevator doors opened on the main floor, he walked out the door of the building, his scuffed shoes tapping quietly against the marble tile. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out, saw it was Cheryl calling, and put it back.  
      Jughead seethed his way back to his apartment building. He rode up the elevator, and knocked on the landlady’s door. Nobody answered. Jughead pounded on the door.  
      “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” whined Midge the landlady from the other side. She opened the door, scowling at him. “What do you want?” Midge looked him up and down. “You smell like alcohol. Have you been drinking?!”  
      Jughead handed her a wad of cash. “That should cover this month’s rent. I’m leaving. You can rent out my apartment.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the elevator, leaving Midge stunned and confused in her doorway.  
      Jughead made it to his apartment. He picked up his phone, started dialing, and held it to his ear. “Hi, Veronica? I’m taking your offer.” He hung up, opened his laptop, and bought a ticket to Dublin, Ireland, at midnight. _I’d better start packing_ , he thought.

…

     Betty’s phone rang. She showed her phone screen to Veronica, smiling excitedly, before answering it. “Hey, Archie, how’s it going?” Betty tried to sound casual, but her heart was beating too hard. Luckily, Archie didn’t seem to notice.  
      “Great! Practice just ended, and I think my pass is finally getting better!”  
      “Oh, great! That’s so good to hear, Archie!” Betty said, while Veronica looked on in suspense, munching on a cookie.  
      “Listen, I thought we could meet up for lunch. How about it?”  
      “Of course! Where?” Betty squealed silently and jumped up and down in her greasy overalls, ponytail bouncing.  
      “I was thinking where we had our first date? Remember that Italian place? What was it called, Trat… Tratty…”  
      “Trattoria No. 10?” Betty asked.  
      “Yeah! That’s the place! Meet me there in an hour?”  
      “Absolutely! See you then.”  
      “Okay! Love you babe.”  
      Betty hung up, and screamed in utter excitement. Veronica was on the receiving end of a very enthusiastic Betty-hug, and despite the grease, she didn’t mind at all.  
      “I’m getting married!” Betty said, getting teary-eyed already. She looked down at her clothes. “Oh my goodness! I can’t wear these, they’re so messy!” Betty ran to her room, but Veronica wasn’t having any of it.  
      “Oh no, Betty, this is a special occasion. I’m taking you out shopping. My treat.” Veronica followed Betty into her room, “It’s not every day that your best friend gets engaged - and you owe me a shopping trip, anyway!”  
      Betty smiled. Ordinarily she might have protested, but her walls crumbled at Veronica’s excellent point. “Oh all right, I’ll let you take me out. But nothing expensive!”  She threatened Veronica with her hairbrush. “Just let me get dressed and we can go!”  
      Veronica clapped her hands together, “Great! I know just the place; it’ll be easy-as-pie.”

…

     With twenty minutes to spare before Archie and Betty’s date, Betty and Veronica came out of Water Tower Place, arms laden with bags of clothes. Betty was outfitted in engagement apparel approved by Veronica Lodge.  
      “So what do you think of Chicago so far? Anywhere near as amazing as Paris?” Betty asked.  
      “Ugh,” Veronica sighed, “I love Paris - as well as Chicago, but no place can compare to New York.” Veronica placed her hand over her heart, “New York is my heart’s home, and I can’t wait to move back.”  
      “So why don’t you move back there? What’s stopping you?”  
      “I need to establish a foothold in the Parisian publishing scene! After all, my company _is_ an international publishing company, so it kind of needs to be _international_.” Veronica laughed, and her phone rang. Veronica excused herself, and answered it, and hung up almost immediately.  
      “Who was that?” asked Betty.  
      Veronica sighed, “Oh, just an old friend. Come on, let’s go get you to your engagement date!” Both girls walked a little faster in the the brisk but sunny late spring day.

…

     Veronica and Betty parted ways at the restaurant, Veronica giving Betty a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck.” She whispered, and whisked away, her black cape fluttering in the wind. Betty took a deep breath, and entered the restaurant.  
      She spied Archie in the empty restaurant sitting in the corner near the window, playing with his phone. He looked up and spotted her, his mouth going agape when he saw her.  
      Betty was wearing a black summer dress with sunflowers embroidered into the soft fabric, cute yellow wedges, and her hair back in its usual ponytail. She smiled at Archie and headed his way.  
      “You look nice,” Archie said, smiling. “Where did you get those clothes?”  
      “Veronica was in town, and she said I owed her a shopping trip,” Betty replied, satisfied that she had created such a response from Archie.  
      Archie raised his eyebrows. “Very nice! I didn’t know Veronica was in Chicago, when did she get in?”  
      Betty would have answered, but Archie’s phone vibrated on the table. “Sorry,” he said distractedly, and answered the text. “It’s Moose, I have to answer it.”  
      Betty was patient; of course Archie had to answer Moose; it was important for his work that he stay in touch with his teammates.  
      The server came over and took their orders, whisked away their menus, and left Archie and Betty looking at each other.  
      “So yeah, practice was good today; we did tackle practice and some pass exercises. Oh! Did you hear what happened to Moose?”  
      “No, tell me!” Betty said enthusiastically.  
      “Let me find the photo…” Archie searched through his phone, and showed the photo to Betty.  
      The photo was of Moose, helmetless, with a bleeding gash over his left eyebrow.  
      “Oh, gross!” Betty laughed. “Are you sure that’s appropriate lunch conversation?”  
      Archie shrugged and smiled.  
      Amidst mouthfuls of food, Archie told Betty stories of his day. Betty listened patiently, too nervous to eat very much of her fettuccine alfredo.  _When is he going to ask?!_  
     Finally, after their plates had been cleared, Archie looked up and said, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Archie reached into his pocket.  
      _This is it!_ Betty’s stomach twisted into knots.  
      “I meant to give you this.” Archie proffered a small black box to Betty. She smiled in return, trying to look like she wasn’t expecting anything _special_.  
      She opened the box, heart pounding.

      Inside were two shiny earrings.  
 

 _Earrings_.

  
      They were beautiful, the shape of crescent moons, but Betty’s heart sank slowly and painfully at the sight of them. She tried to look happy.  
      “Archie! These… these are wonderful!” Betty smiled half-heartedly, closing the lid.  
      “Try them on, Betty!" Archie said, oblivious and enthusiastic. "I bet they'll look great on you!”  
      Betty took out the little earrings from their box, and put them on. Though they were beautiful, she found them difficult to wear.  
      Archie’s phone buzzed yet again. “Oops, emergency meeting. Sorry, Betty, I’ve got to go. You understand, right.”  
      Betty did understand. She nodded, and kissed Archie as he left, sighing at her plate of uneaten fettuccine. She paid the bill and headed back home.

  
      Well, the day hadn’t been all bad; Betty had fixed her car, she’d visited Veronica, and gotten some really cute new outfits, and a new pair of earrings too! But all of that was cast into shadow by the fact that Archie hadn’t proposed. They’d been together since university; they both knew they were meant for each other. _So why hasn't he asked me yet?_   
      She got back to her apartment, kicked off her wedges, and rubbed her feet, tiptoeing to the couch. Betty’s phone rang: it was Archie. Her heart started beating fast again.  
      “Archie? What’s up?” Betty asked, trying not to sound too eager.  
      She could see it now: A _rchie would apologize for the mixup with the earrings, and would invite her on a lovely date walking around the park district, where they would be serenaded with violins as the sun set. He would get down on one knee, and say…_  
      “I’m going to Ireland!”  
       Betty was shaken out of her reverie. Ooen-mouthed, she made no reply. _Ireland?!_  
      “Did you hear me, Betty? I'm going to Dublin!" Archie said, when Betty didn't reply. There’s a friendly football tournament happening later this week, and since it’s only May, Coach thought it would be a good idea to warm us up! Isn’t that awesome?”  
      "Yeah! That sounds great, Archie!”  Betty tried to keep the disbelief and disappointment from her voice.  
      “So we leave in an hour; I have to go pack, and make the shuttle to the airport, so I won’t have time to say goodbye in person. Is that okay with you? I’m sorry, babe.?”  
      “Don't worry, Arch, I get it. I love you; have a good time in Ireland!” Betty stretched her legs out on the couch, rolling her ankles.  
      “I’ll be back in a week or so, and I’ll take you on a special date once I get back, I promise! I’ll make up for today.”  
      “Okay. Now you'd better go pack, Arch, don’t miss your shuttle!”  
      “Okay babe, I love you; bye!”  
      Betty sat in the silence of her apartment. In the afternoon light, dust particulates swirled and danced through the air. She’d never been to Ireland. In fact, she’d never been out of Chicago, despite having a friend like Veronica. Unlike the Lodge's, her family had never been rich, and Betty had always ached to move out and be independent so her parents could retire. She sighed, and rolled over on her stomach. Allowing her parents to retire wasn’t the only reason Betty had wanted out of the house: she wasn’t on great terms with her parents. They wanted to control a great portion of her life, and the extent of that control grew steadily as she did, reaching a peak in her senior year of high school. After that, Betty had had enough, moved out, gotten two jobs babysitting and repairing cars, and paid her own way through college. It was difficult, but it was worth it. Betty regretted none of it, and wouldn’t have changed a thing.  
      Betty had met Archie the day that they moved into residence. Their rooms were next door to each other, and Betty heard him playing his guitar through the thin walls. He was such a beautiful singer. She started up a conversation with him one day, and the rest was history. Archie went through university with a full-ride football scholarship, and was picked up by the NFL in his senior year. Betty couldn’t have been prouder; she cheered Archie on at every game.  
They were like partners in crime: nobody could separate them, not even football. Betty felt her despondency melt away, being replaced with love for her Archie. They were going to be together for the rest of their lives, Betty could feel it in her very soul...s _o why not make a move?_ Archie should have asked her by now.  
      _Wait; why haven’t_ I _made a move?_ Betty asked herself now, as an idea sparked to life in her brain. She scrambled for a computer, and before she could think, found herself a one-way ticket to Dublin, Ireland, on a flight leaving at midnight tonight.  
      Her heart was pounding. _Am I really doing this?_ Betty clicked the accept button. _Yeah, I’m really doing this!_  
      Betty grabbed her phone from off the couch and called Veronica.  
      “Ronnie! Guess what?! I’m going to Ireland!”


	2. The Tumultuous Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As the plane made its way over the ocean, a powerful storm front was forming off the Ireland coast. It was a fierce storm - anvil clouds suspended themselves in the air, crackling with nervous energy. The first sign the passengers were given was a sharp drop, jolting the passengers awake. Betty sat up straight, not exactly sure what had happened. Jughead sat very still in his chair, panic suddenly clawing at his insides."

     Jughead sat on the ground near the windows in the large, open terminal, staring through the dim orange lighting outside the bay windows into the inky darkness. Planes of every size took off and landed, and Jughead waited patiently for his turn to take to the air. He rubbed at his irritated and heavy eyes, enduring the silence that made it all too easy to think about... things. The past was behind him, and Dublin was in his future; _that was all that mattered now_. Jughead turned to look at the other people in the terminal; people gathered in small groups: families, friends, and lovers alike leaning each other for support. _Is there anyone else traveling alone?_

     He checked his watch: 11:30. Half an hour until boarding. Jughead opened his new carry-on to dig out his laptop. Cheryl had gifted him a leather suitcase for his birthday; he had never used it during the time they were together and certainly had no intention of using now.

     He opened a new blank document on his laptop, and started to write. Jughead had often found over his lifetime that it was easiest to express his feelings through writing. Though a journalist by trade, Jughead had aspired to become a writer ever since he was little. His fingers flew over the keyboard, giving himself the liberty to write what he wanted.

 

>     _What is it about a small town that makes it attract so much danger? Perhaps it’s the fact that news spreads like wildfire in a small town; or maybe it’s the thrill of the dubious fealty of your neighbours being tested. Or, it could be the inspiring story of the unification of those effected by the tragedy. In reality, it’s the small dissensions that slowly build and build onto the misgivings of the residents that draws danger._
> 
> _Small towns may attract danger, but in truth, they create their own_.

 

     Jughead sighed, pleased with his progress. He was just about to write the next sentence when something caught his attention: in his peripheral vision, Jughead could see a blonde woman, dressed in soft pink, approaching.

     “Excuse me,” she said, smiling, “Do you mind if I use the outlet? My phone is dying, and I need to send some messages.”

     “Sure,” Jughead replied disinterestedly, flexing his fingers over his keyboard. The lady stood still.

     “I need you to move over a little, if you don’t mind. You’re kind of blocking it.” The lady sounded apologetic, but to Jughead’s ears, it meant nothing but _move_. Jughead shuffled over, moving his bag, and resettling himself a little ways away.

     “Thanks very much.” the lady said. Jughead didn’t reply, but tried to keep writing.

     The lady sat down beside the outlet against the window, and started tapping away on her phone.

 

>    _Hey Veronica, just got through security, and I made it about twenty minutes before boarding time! Thanks for the ride to the airport, and thank you so much for coming to visit; it’s been so nice to see you. See you in Dublin!_

 

     Betty sent the message, and leaned her head back against the window. She hoped the man she had asked to move didn’t think she was intruding. He had a scowl on his face and an odd beanie on his head. The man was writing like his life depended on it; his fingers flying furiously over the keyboard. Betty was close enough to see what he was writing: something about a murder of someone with red hair.

  

>     _They found the body on July 15th, supposedly two weeks after John Doe had been murdered, his red blood coalescing in his hair. Three hours after the autopsy was completed, it was found that John had been killed a week earlier, and in a much more grisly manner than previously expected._

     Jughead could feel the woman staring at his laptop screen. Self-conscious about the roughness of his writing, he zoomed out, so that even he couldn’t see what he was writing. That didn’t matter much to Jughead; what mattered most was that he could write in peace. He could feel the gaze of the lady turn away, and could sense her embarrassment. Jughead smiled smugly, and returned to his writing. Before he could find his train of thought, a voice over the intercom informed the terminal that they were now boarding passengers. Jughead closed his laptop, and stuffed it back into his black suitcase. He stood up and walked towards the kiosk, leaving the lady sitting by the electrical output.

     Betty waited, watching the tired people stand in line. Looking out over the people waiting in the terminal, she could see exhausted families carrying suitcases and young children, couples standing in line, waiting patiently to board the plane. _I must be one of the only ones traveling alone._

     Betty's stomach twisted into a knot of excitement; it was her first time on a plane.

 

…

 

   Jughead hadn't always been a nervous flyer; the unease had arisen at the start of university, and he had never been able to shake the paranoia from the back of his mind. It didn’t help either that sitting next to strangers for a seven-and-a-half hour direct flight made Jughead very uncomfortable. He hoped to all that was good that he would not have to sit by anyone talkative, let alone a child.

   Jughead twitched his leg nervously, looking out the window of the plane. He cursed himself for not thinking to buy a flight during the day; he often looked out the window of the plane as a way to avoid talking to his seat-mate. At least with a red eye flight, people would be sleeping, and they could leave him to fret all by his lonesome.

    _Speak of the devil_ , Jughead thought, when a small child jumped into the seat next to him. Despite the late hour, the kid was full of energy, and smiled at Jughead with unbridled joy.

   “This is my first time on a plane.” The child whispered to Jughead.

   “You’re lucky, kid.” Jughead grumbled back, and settled into his seat.

   “Johnathan!” a mother’s voice called out in the small space. Jonathan went skipping back to his mother, leaving Jughead to his own thoughts once again.

 

…

 

Betty boarded the plane, finding her seat easily, next to a tired looking woman. Betty lifted her suitcase to put it into the overhead compartment.

   “Excuse me?” The mother said, smiling softly at Betty, “Would you mind if you switched seats with my son? It’s his first time on a plane, and I think I may be the only one to keep him quiet.”

   “Of course!” Betty laughed, “It’s my first time on a plane too, I understand how he feels.”

   “Thank you so much! His seat is up over there-“ she pointed up towards the cockpit. “Johnathan!” she called over the quiet rummaging of the other passengers. Betty could see a little head pop over the top of a seat. His mother gestured for him to come over, and Johnathan skipped to his mother, navigating deftly between the passengers and their bags.

   The mother whispered her thanks, and Betty started to walk over to her new seat.

   

…

 

   Jughead looked at his phone, noticing the multitude of notifications from Cheryl. He decided to turn it off, sighed, and put it in the pocket of his coat.

   He watched the people boarding, turning his head to look at the rest of the plane. There was an old woman trudging up the aisle.

   _Please don’t sit next to me, please don’t sit next to me_ , Jughead chanted in his head. He sighed in relief as the lady shuffled past his seat.

   A man walked up the aisle, carrying a girl. _Please do not deposit her in that seat, I do not want to have to deal with a child on a seven-and-a-hour-flight, walk past me. Walk past me!_ The man laid the girl down slowly in one of the chairs in front of him.

   “Hi!” A soft voice said. Jughead looked up, startled. It was the lady in pink, who had wanted to charge her phone. She was standing awkwardly in the aisle, looking down at Jughead with twinkling, yet tired, eyes.

   "Hi." Jughead turned to watch as the crew outside prepared the plane for take off. The blonde lady in pink put her suitcase in the overhead compartment, and sat down beside him.

   “The mom wanted her son to sit next to her, so I guess I’m your new seat-mate!” Betty explained, rifling through the magazines and airplane brochures in the pocket in front of her.

   “How exciting,” Jughead drawled. Betty frowned at him, and returned to her magazine. Jughead hadn’t meant to be so condescending; his nerves tended to make him snappy, especially on planes. For Jughead, what was done was done, there was no trying to fix it. He resigned himself to the fact, and turned to look out the window again, looking at nothing in particular.

   They sat in silence, Betty fiddling with her phone, Jughead trying to ignore his nerves. Once everybody had settled in, the plane started to move. Jughead tightened his grip on the armrests, his whole body going tense. Betty noticed.

   “Is this your first time on a plane?”

   “I have been on many flights, unfortunately.” He exhaled, trying to calm himself, but like every other time, breathing never helped. Jughead could feel his heart pounding in his ears.  

   “Oh, so you’ve got flight nerves?”

   Jughead looked at the lady sitting next to him. “It is that obvious?” he said sardonically, through gritted teeth .

   Betty looked at him, smile tugging at the corner of her lip. “Is there any way I can help?”

   Jughead was surprised. He’d never thought of how somebody could help him; Jughead was used to relying on himself to solve his own problems.

   “The best way to stay calm is to distract yourself, that’s what my mom always says. Would a conversation help?” Betty asked when the man with the scowl on his face didn’t respond. Jughead nodded his head,  _it's worth a shot._ Betty took a deep breath, and started talking.

   “Ok, my name is Betty Cooper, and I’ve never been on a plane before.”

   Jughead was flummoxed. “What do you mean you’ve never been on a plane?”

   “I mean, I’ve never been on a plane before.”

   “Vacations?”

   Betty shook her head. “No, we had staycations,” Betty said making quotation marks with her fingers. “My parents were always too busy to take me and my sister on vacation.”

   Jughead regarded her, his grip loosening on the armrests.

   “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never been in a home more than three months.”

   “Three months?!” Betty looked outraged.

   Jughead closed his eyes, and nodded his head. He had had a rough childhood, growing up with his father, who was, in all senses of the term, garbage. Like Betty, Jughead had grown up in Chicago, but was ferried around foster homes by social workers. Jughead knew he had been a bad kid - one time he’d even tried to burn a house down - and every three months, like clockwork, a social worker would show up at the door, and the foster parents would sigh in relief.

     Despite being a rebel-rouser when he was younger, Jughead loved to write. If you ever saw him, he would have had his nose stuck in a journal, pen or pencil scribbling over the lines on the page.

   Jughead worked hard enough at English to be accepted into the University of Cambridge. It was during the flight over to England that Jughead had found his distaste for traveling by air.

   “Three months, huh?” Betty said, savouring the thought of never having a permanent home; of being ripped out of a place you had just started calling home - even if you _could_ call it that. “You never told me your name!” Betty realized.

   “Jughead Jones” he said, setting his hands in his lap, unconciously relaxing. Betty laughed, then realized he was looking at her, serious and miserable like a cat in a bath.

   “Yeah, I get that a lot. My real name’s even worse, wanna hear it?”

   Betty nodded her head, turning in her chair to face Jughead.

   “Forsythe Pendleton Jones-“ he held his hand up weakly in an attempt at humour “The Third.”

   “Wow,” Betty said, smiling, “That is pretty bad. Jughead Jones it is.”

   “That’s what everyone says.” Jughead said, sitting back in his seat. “Hold on, this is the worst part.” Jughead gripped his seat again, his knuckles white.

   The plane accelerated, and took off. Betty sat back in her seat, taking in the feeling. When the plane had reached a steady altitude, Jughead willed his hands to move. Unsurprisingly, they chose not to.

   “Wow! Is it always like that?” Betty asked.

   “Yep.” Jughead said. “Might as well settle yourself in, it’s going to be a long ride.”

   “Oh, right.” Betty had somehow forgotten the lengthy duration of the flight, mostly in part due to her amazement that she was in an airplane. She sighed, and settled back in her seat.

   “Thanks, Betty Cooper.” Jughead said, almost so quiet that Betty couldn’t hear him over the white noise of the engines.

   “You’re welcome, Jughead Jones.” Betty replied.

   They sat in a comfortable silence, the airplane lights dimmed so the passengers could sleep. In the warm glowing light of the cabin, Jughead almost felt sleepy. He looked out the window, mesmerized by the gentle flashing of the lights on the wing. The sound of the engines and the gentle lighting lulled Jughead into a comfortable stupor. For once, in this quasi-purgatory, he could let his mind wander without having it immediately re-directed to Cheryl. He got out his laptop from underneath his seat, opened it, and started tapping away at his computer.

   It didn’t feel right to write about a murder; Jughead wasn’t in the mood to write about anything so hateful in this atmosphere. He decided to free-write, and let his train of thought go where it wanted.

 

>     _The rain fell in the forest, whispering through the trees as if telling secrets that only the branches would understand. It was night, the moon gently shining behind the pregnant clouds. The forest was silent, save for the rain, and the quiet swoosh of an owl’s wings as it flew, searching for its next victim. The owl -_

   

   Jughead felt a bump on his shoulder. Betty had fallen asleep, and her head had fallen onto Jughead’s shoulder, conveniently the perfect height on which to use as a pillow. Despite just meeting Betty, Jughead didn’t have the heart to move her - she looked so worn out.

   Her breathing was soft and quiet, and the steady rhythm made Jughead’s heartbeat synchronize itself to its cadence. Her lightly scented perfume filled the air with the smell of fresh laundry and strawberries. Jughead tried to type, but his eyelids suddenly felt too heavy to open. Jughead closed his laptop and laid it between his leg and the window, adjusted himself while trying not to wake the lady sleeping on his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

   This was the calmest Jughead had ever been in a long time - maybe ever. When he was younger, there had never been a moment of peace for neither him nor his foster parents. Jughead had always carried an insatiable anger in him. An anger for life, or for his father, Jughead didn’t know, but the anger was what drove him - it became his determination.

   The restless fire within him hadn’t extinguished with time; a journalist on a short deadline was not the right environment to dampen his flame. But there on the plane, within the darkness of the cabin, Jughead felt more than calm; he felt content. Everything seemed to come to a quiet and steady harmony, and acquiesced his agitation. He drifted off to a dreamless sleep, the lights on the wing flashing in time to Betty's breathing.

 

…

 

   As the plane made its way over the ocean, a powerful storm front was forming off the Ireland coast. It was a fierce storm - anvil clouds suspended themselves in the air, crackling with nervous energy. The first sign of the storm the passengers were given was a sharp drop, jolting them awake. Betty sat up straight, not exactly sure what had happened. Jughead sat very still in his chair, panic suddenly clawing at his insides. The seatbelt sign lit up, and another drop set Jughead and Betty’s ears singing with the sudden change in pressure. Children were crying, as scared as Jughead was, his breathing rapid and irregular. The lights turned on, and the captain spoke over the intercom.

   “Sorry for the turbulence, folks. Looks like there’s a large storm cloud in our path to Dublin International Airport, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to fly in it. We’re going to divert to Cardiff, Wales. On behalf of this airline, I apologize for any inconveniences this may cause.”

   There was a collective sigh in the cabin, and quiet chatter started, passengers whispering about how to change their plans.     

   Betty sighed, and tightened her ponytail. She looked over to Jughead. There was sweat on his brow, and panic in his eyes. He sat paralyzed in his chair, leaning forward.

   Betty jumped into action. “Jughead?” she prompted. “I need you to look at me.” Jughead moved his head with difficulty, forgetting to breathe.

   Betty looked into Jughead’s green and exhausted eyes. “You need to breathe.”

   Jughead looked back into her tired blue eyes, and something in his mind unlocked, and the panic disappeared. He started to breathe regularly, with some effort.

   “Thanks.” Jughead said breathlessly.

   “We’re going to be okay, we’re avoiding the storm, and we’re going to be okay. Okay?” said Betty, not taking her eyes off of Jughead’s. He nodded, wiping his forehead, and replaced his laptop underneath the seat.

   Neither Jughead nor Betty had time to think about how they had slept on the plane; Jughead was busy enough trying to stay calm, and Betty was already rerouting in her mind to get to Dublin on time for the football matches.

   Somewhere in Jughead’s mind was the memory of the moments before he had slept, and he kept that thought to think about later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins! I'm so excited for the two of them, it's gonna be awesome!!
> 
> kitseybarbours is my wonderful beta!
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be up as I still have to write it, and it looks like it'll be a bit longer than 3000 words this time. So. Sometime next week I'm thinking. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!


	3. Keys to the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the hotel, and finding out they'll have to share a room.

The plane touched down in Cardiff, the gusts of wind making it difficult to land. Drops of rained streamed across the windows of the cabin, and Jughead clung to his chair, Betty trying to talk him down. 

The passengers disembarked from the plane, and they all made their way to the help desk. Jughead and Betty walked together, Betty’s ponytail bobbing cheerfully despite the weather, and Jughead’s scowl firmly in place. 

“So how are you going to get to Dublin?” asked Jughead, looking at Betty out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, I’ll see if they have any rental cars, driving on the wrong side of the road couldn’t be that bad, could it?” Betty replied. 

Jughead chuckled, “You know Ireland is an island, right?”

“I’ll drive to a ferry, then.” Betty looked at him; Jughead’s scowl had all but melted away, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his green eyes sparkling through his black hair. A warm feeling developed in Betty’s stomach. She snapped her head forward, walking with purpose in the crowd. _I’m going to Dublin to propose to Archie._

Betty tried to nudge her way through the crowd at the help desk, but with her suitcase, it was a feat almost impossible to accomplish. 

“Here,” Jughead was behind her, motioning for her suitcase, “See if they have two rental cars.” Betty hesitated, then nodded. 

Betty was a jane of all trades: baking, mechanics, fashion, she could do it all. But Betty had a trick up her sleeve to navigate her way through the crowd: she had been captain of her football team, linebacker position. Betty was a little small, and maybe a little slight, and that made it all the easier to slip past the people. Before she knew it, she was at the help desk. 

“Excuse me,” Betty said. A lady with a fake plastered smile hovered over towards Betty. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” The lady said, in a lilting Irish accent. 

“Do you have any rental cars?”

“Ma’am, does it look like we have rental cars?” the lady motioned over to the crowd surrounding the help desk, and waited for a response. 

“No?” Betty responded, mood significantly decreased by the lady’s snippy remark.

“That’s right ma’am. Where you on the flight from O’Hare to Dublin?” sheasked.

Betty nodded. 

“There is a bus to a hotel leaving in fifteen minutes for your group in parking lot B, should you like to clean yourself up.” The lady flicked her eyes over Betty’s slightly disheveled state. “Now, let me tell these other people the same thing.” She hovered over to another couple, the same robotic smile once again pasted on her face. 

Betty left the crowd, defeated and hurt, returning to Jughead, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking at her intently, his face in a mask. It made Betty feel like she was being dissected, like she was transparent to his gaze. 

“What’s the verdict, Cooper?” Jughead asked, as Betty came to rest her hands on the handle of her suitcase. 

“There aren’t any rental cars, but there is a bus headed towards a hotel nearby, who is accepting the passengers of the O’Hare to Dublin flight.” 

Jughead nodded, sizing up the situation. “I don’t think there’s any other choice.” he decided, “Wanna go to a hotel?”

“Yes,” Betty sighed, thinking of a room to herself, a hot shower, and a warm bed. 

Jughead and Betty left the people crowding around the desk, in search of parking lot B.

…

There was only two seats on the bus not occupied, right next to each other. Betty and Jughead sat down, Betty sitting in the window seat while Jughead leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted; dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises against his fair pallor, and looked a little too pale in the lights of the bus. Betty studied his face, wondering if he would be alright for the trip to the hotel. Jughead’s eyes slid open a crack, finding Betty looking at him.

“What? Jughead said.

Betty shook her head, feeling blush spread on her cheeks. “I was just wondering if you were going to be alright, for the ride to the hotel.”

“I’ll be fine, Betty.” Jughead said. “It’s just jet-lag.”

Betty turned to look out the window, the last of the bags being thrown into the carriage by two men. She knew what Jughead meant, she was sleepy herself, despite having slept on the plane ride over. 

The bus ride to the hotel was short. Betty looked out the window, watching the bushes and trees rush by, almost being blown to pieces by the storm. The window rattled against the bus windows, rain splattering on the roof. The storm was too strong to be calming, too dangerous to be anything but worrisome.

They made it to the hotel without incident, the passengers unloaded from the bus and ran for the door. 

Betty and Jughead walked in line to the entrance of the bus, Betty hugging herself in dreaded anticipation of the dash to the entrance of the hotel. Jughead was behind her, and noticed Betty shrugging in on herself.

“Take this,” he said, while taking off his overcoat. He settled it over her shoulders, and Betty looked back at him. 

“Thanks.” she said, and smiled at him tiredly, and put on the heavy coat.

Jughead felt warm, and not just from the bus heating. Making Betty Cooper smile was quickly going to become one of Jughead’s goals, whether he knew it then, or not.

...

The hotel, shabby in its decor but warm with subdued lighting, was a welcome change from the harsh light of the airport. Everybody piled off the bus and into the lobby. An old man in a red vest sat at the counter with a harried look on his face. Evidently, the storm had caused as much trouble for him as for the passengers on the midnight flight to London. The storm had seemed to give them a second wind, and everyone was chatting with one another, amicably complaining about the situation they were in. 

"Can I have everybody's attention?" the man in the red vest said weakly. Betty was nearby, at the head of the crowd with her suitcase. She tried to help. 

"Everybody,  _quiet_!" She yelled out in her loudest voice. 

The room was immediately silent, all staring at the girl in pink with the messy ponytail. Even Jughead had to look up from his phone. 

The old man looked at her and nodded in thanks. "Since most of you on this flight are families or couples, it seems fitting that you should be roomed with your loved ones. When I call your name, please come and grab your keys to your room." The man had a thick welsh accent, but it sounded like music to Betty's ears. 

One by one, people walked up and took their keys to their rooms. The crowd of people started to get smaller and smaller, until only Betty and Jughead were left in the small foyer. 

"So you must be..." the man looked down at a card in his hand, "Betty Cooper?" Betty nodded. The man looked over at Jughead, "And you're Forsythe Jones the Third?" 

"You can call me Jughead." he responded, walking over, his feet silent on the carpet. 

"Right, then," the old man put his hands down on the table and considered the pair. "You two are going to have to room together, is this alright with both of you?" 

Betty and Jughead looked at each other in surprise and uncertainty. "Are there no other rooms available?" Jughead asked. 

"No," was the reply, "We are all booked up because of this damn storm. I'm sorry, we've only got one room left, and I'm afraid that all the other hotels are booked up. There's not so much that I can do, my hands are tied." 

Jughead nodded grimly and looked at Betty. There was a quick unspoken conversation that passed between the two of them before Betty answered the man. 

"We'll be just fine, thanks." She took the keys from the man, and offered him a winning smile. Jughead began to wonder if any of her smiles weren't of the winning sort. 

He directed up the left wing to their room, on the first floor. The stairs were narrow, and Jughead's hat-covered head almost touched the ceiling. He could tell he was going to have a good time in Wales. 

Well, at least he'd have a shower, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry this is so short but I'm gonna have to keep it at this length for now. I'll work on the next chapter sometime here, but I can't promise it'll be anytime soon, lol. Probably before school starts up again in September.


	4. Rain Rain Go Away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is awkward living with a stranger. Especially when both parties are very hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey here have some trash i wrote

     The room was small, but just like the rest of the hotel, cheerfully warm and welcoming. There were - _thank goodness_ , thought Betty- two beds with handmade quilts covering them with colourful organized patterns. 

     Betty went to claim the far bed and then looked out the window, watching the orange lights glow dimly through the rough storm. She picked up her phone and checked for a signal. 

     “No signal.” Jughead said. Betty turned to face him. “I tried it in the hotel lobby. It’s actually pretty amazing that we have electricity at all.”

     “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Betty sighed. She needed to relax, even if it was in the presence of a complete stranger. “Do you mind if I-“ she gestured towards the washroom where hopefully a warm shower would await her. 

     “Sure, go ahead.” Jughead said absentmindedly while he searched his bag for his laptop. 

     “Thanks.” Betty was looking forward to a hot shower — how long had it been? Two days, surely. Or maybe it was three? Either way, Betty turned on the shower and waited for the water to run warm. She shook out her tangled ponytail, and ran her hands through her blonde hair, revelling in the feeling. 

     Once the water was warm enough, Betty shed her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

     It was as luxurious as she had hoped. 

     Jughead sat on his bed contemplating the messages on his phone from Cheryl that he’d ignored from the very moment they were sent. He deleted them, and looked for something else to do so that he didn’t have to think. 

     He found the remote for the old tv and turned it on, and looked for the weather channel. According to the weather forecaster, the storm was supposed to die down in a day or two, which Jughead found funny. He laughed — rather, he sniffed in slight amusement — at the forecaster’s stupidity. Jughead took off his beanie and scrubbed his hand through his hair, letting the sound of the tv, the rain, and the howling wind wash over him. But, there was something else in there, some other sound. What was it? It was almost like a melody. Betty. _It must be Betty_ , thought Jughead. 

     It was barely more than a whisper, but Betty was singing in the shower. _Of course she would, that’s definitely something she would do, isn’t it?_

     Jughead turned down the tv and listened carefully for the melody of whatever song Betty was singing. The wind let up for a moment just enough to hear what Betty was singing. 

     “… _make it better_ …” Betty sang. 

     Hey Jude. 

     Jughead smiled, even if he didn’t know it. 

     If he admitted, there was a part of his heart that whispered to him that it was a perfect song for a new beginning, but the howling wind soon rushed the thought away. But, it had planted a little idea in his heart that would withstand the winds of a hurricane if it had to. 

     Jughead agreed with one part — it _was_ time for a new beginning. A new life. 

 

…

 

     Betty stepped out of the shower feeling 100% better than before, and grabbed a tool and her clothes, and went to open the door. _Shit!_ She’d forgotten that there was a stranger — a _man_ no less — in the room outside! How had she forgotten!? Betty supposed that it was just a habit she picked up while living alone. Nothing to worry about, Betty was sure Jughead would understand. 

     Betty opened the door slightly, and called Jughead’s name. 

     “Yeah?” he responded. 

     “Can you… not look… please? Just like, turn around, or something? I didn’t bring clothes with me.” Betty tried to muster some courage, and it almost worked. But, there was no other way to get out of this situation, so she persisted. 

     “Oh shit, yeah.” Jughead turned towards the wall and placed his head in his hands. He could feel his cheeks burning. 

     Betty quickly ran over to her suitcase and grabbed a shirt and yoga pants and jumped into them in the blink of an eye. 

     “Ok, you can look now.” Betty said. _How awkward was this!? So bad_!

     Jughead turned to look at Betty. She didn’t miss how his eyes quickly scanned her body, and how the momentary flash ofsomething in his eyes made her breath hitch in her throat. It was just a shirt and yoga pants, right? What on earth could possibly be sexy about them?

_He was really handsome with his beanie off, and his hair all mussed_ , she thought. 

     Jughead looked away, and swallowed hard. “Do you want to grab something to eat? Because I’m hungry, and if you aren’t I’m going to find something to eat alone.”

     Betty was so tired she felt nauseous, but she figured she’d better eat something before _finally_ going to sleep. “Yeah sure, I’ll come with. Just let me grab a sweater.” She grabbed a cable-knit sweater and threw it on while Jughead adjusted his beanie.

     Jughead walked out the door and held it open for Betty, who followed close behind him with her purse strung over her shoulder and her hair brushed and let down from its ponytail. 

 

…

 

 

     The bar would have usually been closed at such a late hour, however due to the storm and the number of hungry people, the hotel crew had taken it upon themselves to feed the strangers in a show of welsh hospitality. 

     It was crowded with travellers, their voices quietened with weariness. Betty knew how they felt, it had been a long two or maybe three days. 

     There were only a few people sitting at the bar, and Jughead and Betty maneuvered their way through the throngs of people to claim two chairs. 

     Betty thought it was a little weird to be sitting with a stranger that she had only met just recently. But, she needed the company and would feel rude if she intruded into anybody else’s conversations. So, Jughead it was. 

     “Hi, would you like some menus? Or only here for the drinks?” A middle aged woman asked them, cheery as ever at the late hour. 

     “Two menus, please.” Betty smiled back at the lady.

     “And whiskey.” Jughead said. His lack of manners earned him a look from Betty, so he added a hasty “please,” to the end. 

     The waitress came back with two plastic menus, and began to pour Jughead’s whiskey. She stopped at two fingers. 

     “Thanks.” Jughead mumbled. 

     Betty perused the menu, really only a laminated sheet of paper printed on one side. Jughead stole a glance as he nursed his drink, and admired the way she bit her lip while she was reading, the way her eyes scanned across the page, paying attention to each sentence. He had the sudden urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, then she looked up at him with sweet blue eyes, innocently wondering what Jughead was staring at. 

     Jughead asked “What are you going to get?”in lieu of answering for his staring at her. 

     Betty perked up at the question, and scanned the menu again. “I think I’ll get the turkey and swiss, anything heavier might make me throw up.”

     “I know what you mean.” Jughead figured he shouldn’t have gotten a whiskey, but he also reasoned that he deserved it after all that he’d been through. 

     “What are you getting?” Betty asked. 

     Jughead started and stopped. He hadn’t even picked up the menu, better yet even looked at it. “I don’t know, how about you pick for me?” he smiled and sipped his whiskey. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. No, maybe it was that time on the plane… Jughead’s mind snapped back to the present when Betty spoke. 

     “Okay,” she said, “What kinds of things do you like?” 

     “For food or just in general?” Jughead countered.

     “In general.” Betty tucked her hands under her chin, intent at gazing at Jughead. The undivided attention made him feel like he was in a spotlight, but under the scrutiny of Betty’s doe eyes he didn’t feel so self-conscious. He decided to keep it as sincere as he could without lying. Without telling her what happened. 

     “Books, whiskey, black coffee, writing…” _girls with blonde hair and blue eyes who make me feel like they’re staring right through me_. When had he gotten like this? That question wasn’t relevant at the moment. The more appropriate question was, when was the last time he’d felt like someone was seeing through him? Jughead didn’t have an answer for either the former or the latter questions. 

     “Alright, based on what you’ve told me, I have decided: a ham and cheese sandwich.”

     “Really?” Jughead’s mouth curled upwards in an incredulous smile.

     “What’s wrong with a ham and cheese sandwich?” Betty laughed, her hands touching the counter to prove her point. 

     “Do I look like the type of guy who eats just a regular ham and cheese sandwich?”

     “No, maybe not,” Betty said, “But you like you need need something a little familiar and safe in your life.”

     Jughead considered what she had said: _She might be right about that._

     “Plus, it was the only other thing on the menu that wasn’t over 17 euros.” 

     He balked. “Good call.”

     The lady came over again to take their orders, and left them in a comfortable silence. 

     “So, Jughead,” Betty said, “What brought you to Ireland?”

     “A job opportunity.” _As close to the truth as is possible_ , he supposed. He needed to get the attention off of him, or he might just explode. “What about you?”

     Betty laughed quietly, and looked down to pick at the edge of her sweater. “It’s going to sound stupid.” she smiled. 

     “Doesn’t matter. It still got you on a plane here, so how stupid could it really be?”

     Betty plucked up the courage to tell him. “I came to propose to my boyfriend! He’s near London for some football practice games, and I thought to myself, ‘I’m a modern woman, I know what I want.’ So I bought a ticket and hopped on the earliest available flight!” It all came out almost at once. 

     The heavy coat of not-quite-bitterness-but-not-quite-sadness that Jughead had worn since he was a teenager hefted itself upon his shoulders once again. He was more surprised at her gumption than anything else, and he told her so. 

     “You’ve got a lot of gumption if you came all this way for a guy. He’s really lucky to have you.” _Anyone would be lucky to have you._

     Betty tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” 

     Their sandwiches arrived. 

     They finished their late night snack, paid for their meals — Veronica had reminded both Jughead and Betty to exchange their American dollars for British Euros — and trudged back up stairs to their shared living space. All was done in silence. Betty remarked to herself how odd it was that she could feel so comfortable being silent with another person. With Archie it was always noise and talking, but instead of interacting with Jughead, she felt content not speaking. Perhaps it was that she was tired, or perhaps it was something else. Betty didn’t let the thought linger in her head; she was here to propose to Archie, and that’s what she intended to do. 

 

…

 

     Jughead headed to the shower while Betty turned to her bed. She slipped in underneath the covers and turned on the tv to watch the green pattern of storm slowly dissipate. Betty almost fell asleep while waiting for Jughead to get out of the bathroom to brush her teeth, and when the door turned, Betty looked almost reflexively. 

     Jughead’s naked torso was crossing the threshold into the bedroom. It took half a moment for Betty to realize that she shouldn’t be looking. 

     “Sorry!” She squealed, and covered her eyes with her hands.

     “Oh shit! Sorry!" Jughead exclaimed. "To be honest I kinda forgot you were here, so it’s me who should be sorry. I’ll remember it for the future."

     Betty could feel her blush under her cheeks. It was so difficult to be sharing a room with someone who wasn’t Archie — Archie was familiar, and kind, but Jughead was someone completely different, different rules applied. Betty sighed. _It takes a long time to get used to new rules_. 

     “Just, tell me when it’s okay uncover my eyes.” Betty said. 

     “No problem.” Jughead replied while hefting his small suitcase open onto his bed. In his hurry, and if he was being completely honest, his fury, Jughead had barely packed any clothes. He put on his only other shirt, and slipped into a new pair of boxer shorts, making sure to completely cover himself with blankets. Living with someone else was difficult. The least he could do, he decided, was to make an effort to keep distance. Jughead figured that if he’d been alone for his whole life, Betty Cooper shouldn’t prove to be a problem. 

     “Okay.” 

     Betty uncovered her eyes, and sighed, looking up at the ceiling and avoided Jughead’s eyes with everything in her being. It didn’t work. She looked over at him. 

     Jughead had taken out his computer and was writing on it, _probably some novel, if he liked writing so much._ His eyes slid to hers from across the room. 

     “What?” he said. 

     “I’m going to sleep, goodnight.” Betty said instead of answering. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. 

     “Do you mind if I write? I just needed to get something down.” 

     “No, you can write, it’s okay. Just type quietly.”

     Jughead laughed, which Betty almost couldn’t ear from across the small room. “Okay, I’ll try.” 

     She reached to turn off her light, and turned off the tv. 

     “Goodnight, Jughead Jones.” She said into the semi-darkness. Jughead turned out his light, and the room was illuminated only then by the dim light coming from his laptop. 

     “Sleep tight, Betty Cooper.” He replied. _Why did he have to be such a dork?_

     He finished typing, which turned out to be absolute garbage in his opinion, and settled his laptop on the ground. 

     The rain hit the window, creating a gentle rhythm not unlike the hum of an aircraft’s engine. Jughead settled himself in his bed, and listened to the rain, thinking about how much his life had changed in 72 hours. 

     Betty pretended to go to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted to the man on the other side of the room and his stupid body. She breathed, and willed the thoughts to go away. 

     They both desperately needed sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come so easily on a night like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took like two days to write and I barely looked it over. Hope you had fun, kids.


	5. Sunshine and Rainbows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I usually by things when I get where I’m going.” He lied.   
> This seemed to satisfy the lady, who beamed at him shyly. “Don’t worry,” Betty said, “We can use those prepaid cards to buy supplies. It doesn’t look that bad out there, I think we can make it to some shops.” She worried her strawberry pink lips, thinking logistics.   
> A part of Jughead got its feathers ruffled at the mention of we, like they were somehow grouped together on this shitshow of a journey to Dublin. Hell, maybe they were. Jughead sighed, resigned to his fate of joining a walking rainbow on her way to Ireland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! Here's a little holiday gift to you from me. That rhymed, but I'm leaving it as is.

      _Betty was high up in the bleachers, looking down over a football field, and she could see that flash of red hair dashing towards one of the goal posts. The crowd was cheering, and Betty along with them. Her heart warmed her to see her Archie doing what he loved most._

_      He scored a touchdown and the crowd went crazy, everyone standing and cheering. Suddenly Betty was on the field, tucked in between Archie’s arms and laughing into his shoulder and swaying on her feet.  _

_      Archie looked down into her eyes and leaned in to touch his forehead to hers, his eyes twinkling with pride and exhilaration. Betty had never felt so elated. _

_      A whistle went off in the background, but soon grew to be an incessant buzzing. A referee came up to the two, calling off the score and blowing the whistle with all that he was worth. The ref’s familiar green eyes bore into Betty’s baby blues, and the whistling grew louder, and began to morph into something else as she was drawn away from the scene.  _

     Betty awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing; it took her a second for her brain to start working and she groggily leaned over from her bed to answer it. 

     “Hello?” she croaked. 

     “Hi, Miss Cooper?” The voice on the other end of the line buzzed irritatingly in her head. 

     “Yes,” Betty replied. “What’s going on?”

     “The hotel has been asked to relay a message to the midnight trip from O’Hare to Dublin International. ‘We regret to inform you that the storm front has further inhibited the flight, and that the flight will be delayed until further notice. Your stay at The Crown Hotel will be reimbursed by the airline, and you will receive a prepaid gift card for your troubles.’” The voice paused. “Are there any other questions?”

     “No, thank you.”

     “Would you please be so kind as to inform Mr. Jones?”

     “Yes, I’ll do that.”

     “Thanks very much, Miss. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

     Betty hung up the telephone after saying goodbye, and noticed a pair of eyes looking at her from the other bed. Jughead must have woken up at the sound of the telephone. 

     “What did they have to say?” His voice rumbled through the still air of the hotel room while outside the storm raged on, raindrops thudding heavily onto the window. 

     Betty sighed and threw an arm over her face, hiding her eyes in the crook of her elbow, her skin warm from sleep. 

     “The flight’s been delayed again. But,” she paused, and raised a finger in Jughead’s general direction, “The room is paid for and we get prepaid cards.” 

     “Oh great,” Jughead said sarcastically, “Just what I wanted.”

     “Hey,” Betty chastised. Whatever time it was, it was too early to deal with a grumpy near-perfect stranger.

     “What?”

     “It could be worse, there could be no prepaid card.” 

_Or there could have been no storm and we would have parted ways days ago…_ Jughead thought, helpless to stop the image of himself alone in Dublin, without the sweet and ebullient woman sat in the bed beside his. 

     Jughead chose not to respond, and stretched in his bed, sighing. He pondered on the way part of him clung almost desperately to this stranger. Jughead wondered what it could mean, it must be superficial; there was no way it could be anything other than purely physical, just his body reacting to being in the company of someone else who was 100% more bearable than any other company he had had in the recent past. A part of him whispered that it could be something different, something _more_ , but he shrugged off the inkling of an idea and turned his attention to the tv on the opposite wall. 

     “Let’s see what the weather channel foretells. Maybe the storm has calmed down somewhere.”

     Betty rolled over out of her bed, ruffling the covers and slipping out from underneath them. She hummed her assent, and walked over to the window, her socked feet padding across the floor. 

     Jughead tried not to watch the way she moved and played with her shiny blonde hair, down from its usual ponytail. He turned on the tv and waited for the commercials to end to see what the storm had in store for them. 

     “Well, Bob, I have good news and bad news. The storm front isn’t moving any time soon, so we’ll see flooding and a pretty decent downpour for the next couple of days, but it _is_ losing power,” The weather lady said in a lilting accent. Jughead turned his head minutely to watch Betty stare out the window pensively, half listening to the tv. “Power is back on throughout the region, and ferries are up and running, though it’s still rough going…”

     Jughead didn’t hear the rest of the broadcast, as Betty started from her spot and pivoted on her heel to look at Jughead. 

     “Did you hear what she said?!” Betty said in a stage whisper.

     Jughead nodded, but said nothing. 

     “The ferries are running! We could get a ferry to Dublin!” Betty squealed and jumped onto her bed and squealed more into the pillow, bunching up the quilt in her fingers. 

     Jughead admired her optimism, but couldn’t feel the same burst of happiness she felt. “Betty, I —“

     What could he say? _I got cheated on, and made a last-minute decision to ditch the country, and didn’t bring anything with me_  sounded a little rash, and he didn’t want to divulge his secrets _quite yet_ to someone who didn’t deserve the weight of his problems on her shoulders. 

     Betty looked up at him from her position on her unkempt bed, her hair a soft bright halo around her face. He had to say something. 

     “I barely brought anything with me, I was not prepared to be in this situation.” Betty looked at him with adorably furrowed brows. “I usually by things when I get where I’m going.” He lied. 

     This seemed to satisfy the lady, who beamed at him shyly. “Don’t worry,” Betty said, “We can use those prepaid cards to buy supplies. It doesn’t look _that_ bad out there, I think we can make it to some shops.” She worried her strawberry pink lips, thinking logistics. 

     A part of Jughead got its feathers ruffled at the mention of _we_ , like they were somehow grouped together on this shitshow of a journey to Dublin. Hell, maybe they were. Jughead sighed, resigned to his fate of joining a walking rainbow on her way to Ireland. 

     “If you say so,” he grumbled. “Breakfast first.”

     “Breakfast first,” she nodded, “And I _do_ say so.” 

 

…

 

     After a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and orange juice, at what turned out to be 6 in the morning, Jughead and Betty found themselves back in their tiny shared living space, packing and cleaning what little things they had. 

     Jughead had adorned his still-damp black overcoat, and was absently thinking about what he might need before heading to Dublin. _An umbrella, for sure,_ he thought. 

     “You ready?” A breathy voice interrupted his thoughts. 

     “Hm?” Jughead said, and turned around to look at Betty. His stomach dropped. She looked adorable. 

     Betty had adorned in a sunny yellow raincoat with wooden toggles, black and white striped galoshes, and she leaned against an unopened red polka-dotted umbrella. She looked at Jughead expectantly. 

     He realized he’d been staring. “Uh,” he started, “Yeah, ready.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed. “After you.” 

     Betty walked out the door, and Jughead gave the room a once-over before closing the door behind him with a click that spoke of finality. 

     Jughead checked his phone while Betty bothered the clerk at the front desk asking for directions to the nearest shops. Cheryl had called twice while he was asleep. _The cell reception must have picked up during the night,_ he thought. Jughead considered himself then lucky that he was such a heavy sleeper. A text alert made the phone vibrate in his hand, and he tried not to look at it, but to no avail. 

 

> _Messages, now_
> 
> _Cheryl Blossom : Please Juggie, please call me, we need to t…_

 

     Jughead looked up as Betty approached him with her ponytail bouncing after her. “Good to go?” He asked. 

     “Yeah, it’s not a long walk from here, thankfully,” she paused and looked at his face. He must have been wearing a stormy look, because she asked, “Everything alright?”

     As if on cue, Jughead’s phone buzzed once again, and he shoved it into his pocket in an effort to strangle its desperate attempts to garner attention. He nodded once, slowly. “Everything’s fine. Lead the way.”

     Betty stared at him for a moment longer, in the shrewd manner that Jughead had become accustomed to since meeting her, then turned on her fheel to lead the way out into the downpour. She opened her umbrella once they were outside, deftly sweeping it up until it bloomed into its full shape, and held it over her head, starting to walk into the rainy day. 

     Jughead didn’t usually mind going out without an umbrella, but that was when it was a drizzle, not when it was raining cats and dogs like it was now. He ducked under Betty’s umbrella, and had to crouch due to their height difference.

     Betty noticed and wordlessly offered the handle to Jughead for him to hold. 

     “Thanks.” He muttered. She nodded in return. 

     Jughead felt a little ridiculous holding an item that wasn’t black — which was his default colour. He couldn’t let himself complain, though, and being under a ridiculously colourful umbrella was better than being under no umbrella at all. 

     They made their way quietly down the cobbled road to a lonely street of shops full of goods. 

     “So, Jughead Jones, what do you need?”

     He smirked and looked down at her with a sidelong glance. “An umbrella, for one.” 

     “That can be arranged.” She replied with a shrug and a lopsided grin that sunk down into Jughead’s core. 

 

…

 

 

     Two hours later saw Jughead and Betty walking back to the hotel laden with bags full of clothes, power adaptors, and toiletries. He had his own umbrella — black, of course — and he walked alongside Betty, who was happily humming and smiling to herself as she walked beside him. 

     Betty had been especially helpful in the gadgets department, offering her advice for adaptors and chargers and international plans, like she was an expert on these kinds of things. And maybe she was, Jughead mused. He barely knew anything about her, _except that she has a boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé._ He needed to remind himself of this fact more often, Jughead needed to keep his distance, which was becoming more impossible the more time he spent around this absolute ray of sunshine. 

     “I didn’t know you were missing so many things,” Betty piped up over the sound of wind rushing through the trees, her expression souring as rain sprinkled her face. “Were you in a hurry?”

     Jughead paused before responding. “Yeah.”

     “Must have been a pretty good job offer…” There was an unspoken question in her phrasing: _What job could be so good as to make you leave immediately before tying all the odd ends up?_

     “What can I say, Cooper? I’m all about the money.” Jughead smiled down at her ruthlessly, and she laughed. _The offer was infinitely preferable to staying where I was_ , was the unsaid response. 

     By the time they made it back to the hotel, it was a little past lunchtime, and the both of them had worked up an appetite with all their hard work that morning. 

     They headed back to their room to drop off their bags, most of which were Jughead’s, and to take off their damp clothes. 

     “When does the ferry leave?” Jughead asked. 

     “Oh!” Betty said, her mouth making an o-shape in surprise. “There’s one that leaves…” Betty looked at her phone to find the time, “In an hour and a half. That’s a little bit of time, and I don’t know about you, but I need to eat something before we go.”

     “I’ll join you,” Jughead said, despite knowing that he wouldn’t be able to eat. He mentally cursed himself, he should have gotten dramamine for the sea sickness he knew he would develop. Not eating would be the next best option. 

     “Great! I’m just going to change clothes, and I’ll be out in a jiffy.” Betty ruffled through her bags and came out with new, less wet clothes, and headed to the bathroom. 

     “Sure, meet you down there? I’ll find us a spot.” 

     “Kay,” Betty responded sweetly, and closed the door.

     Jughead shook off his coat, his clothes still relatively dry underneath, and grabbed his laptop to take with him to the dining room. Maybe he could get some writing done…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another chapter. I got inspired by some friends to write some more of this, and I hope it's as good as previous chapters! After failing in my promise of updating frequently, I will never make that promise so that I can break it all over again.  
> I will promise you that I will revisit this, but I don't know when. It might be tomorrow, it might be in months, or even later in 2018.   
> Please please please leave me a comment, they give me the will to write! Say ANYTHING, anything at all! I soak it all up like a flower with sunshine.


End file.
